A second chance.

1. Scars

Annabeth

Pain. That's all I've experienced and felt for the last years I've been imprisoned and locked away.

Perseus took my eyes from me the first time I've been dragged down here, but he restored my sight so that I could look at his face and see how much he enjoyed beating the shit out of me. 

I haven't seen sunlight ever since. Ever since the Gods lost in their fight against Perseus Jackson. Ever since the Gods had been killed, murdered without a second thought from their once hero. Ever since I've been dragged down here, chained, and made immortal. 

Every single day, Perseus would come down here himself with a sadistic glint in his cold, emotionless dull green eyes. He would look at me, smile at me, and taunt me in that whispering voice of his. 

Then he would walk to over to that accursed cabinet of his. He would open it, and pull out new kinds of objects to torture me with. Each day, he finds some twisted, sick, and vile way to humiliate and scar me. Scar me for life. 

My clothes were always in tatters. My skin would always be bleeding. Be bleeding golden ichor, the blood of immortals. But I've grown to hate that colour, grown to hate the colour gold. It only caused me pain, pain and suffering. I wish for my blood back, the blood of demigods and mortals. The colour red, I yearn to see it again, see it one last time. 

I would always be in pain. That's all I've ever felt. I lost any sense of anything around me. All I felt is pain. Being trapped in a dimly lit prison cell for over several years would really scar a person for life. Emotionally, and physically. Especially with the daily torturing I receive from my ex-boyfriend. 

I don't think my mind is in the right state. I don't think my mind would ever be in the right state anymore. Not after years of suffering, years of pain, years of terror, and years of humiliation. 

I've long since given up hope. I had accepted the fact that I was never going to escape. Never going to escape this stupid prison cell. Never going to escape the pain. 

It would always come back to me in the end. The pain would always find a way to harm me, scar me. 

I mean, it hasn't left me for several years. I've grown used to it. It's now a dull ache, but it'll always be there. 

Always. 

Reyna 

I sat in my room, curled up into a ball in the corner. My arms were wrapped around me, and I was staring at the floor in front of me. My tangled and messy hair fell into my eyes, and I didn't bother to swipe it away. I simply didn't have the strength to. 

Years. Years of pain, years of embarrassment, years of mocking taunts and threats. I could picture their voices in my head at this very moment. 

"What was this fight? It was fucking pathetic, I can tell you that. Are you sure you're a true Roman?" 

"You're a sorry mess of an ex-praetor. Get up and face me! You aren't done yet, I'm not through with you!" 

"I'm glad our King sent you with spend some quality time with us. You're truly a wreck. Useless, pathetic. Can't even defend yourself, yet you call yourself a Roman and a used to be Praetor of Rome."

I struggled to push those voices out my mind, tears threatening to spill down my cheeks once more. This isn't fair, no, not at all. What have I done to receive such a cruel fate? I buried my head into my arms, my body shaking. 

Years of being used a personal punching bag to Perseus's fucking army. There wasn't a day where my skin wouldn't bleed, where my body wouldn't ache. Perseus's army made sure of that. They made sure to cut me every day when they used me as a "dummy", and they made sure to bruise me when doing hand to hand combat.